Recipe for Romance
by grayautumnsky13
Summary: A modern AU inspired by an episode of Will and Grace where take a cooking class with a slightly inappropriate instructor. In this AU, Regina is something of an armature chef, and takes weekly cooking classes just for fun, while Robin is a culinary disaster who takes the class just to meet Regina. Killian is their inappropriate instructor, who has his eye on Robin.
1. Chapter 1

Robin taps his fingers nervously against the wooden cutting board at his workstation, watching as the other students filter into the room and grab an apron, slowly wandering to a workstation and claiming it as their own. His stomach flops as he releases a shallow breath, craning his neck in an effort to catch a glimpse of her–a glimpse of a woman he doesn't know, and from what he can tell, isn't even there.

The little voice at the back of his head–which sounds annoyingly similar to John–tells him that this was a bad idea, that it was a rash and stupid choice that came dangerously close to creepy.

Since Marian, he hadn't even so much as looked at another woman. He wasn't interested in dating and had no desire to love again. His life wasn't at all what he'd imagined for himself, but on most days, he'd even go as far as to say that he was happy–or as happy as he could be without Marian. Roland helped, though, more than he'd ever know. Marian had died when Roland was just barely two years old; and, though the loss of her had left a hole in his heart and a ache in his soul that would never heal, he hadn't had time to focus on his own grief. Being a single father hadn't allowed much time for mourning. Roland's needs came first and though it wasn't at all the same, having Roland meant he'd always have a little piece of Marian. He saw her in his son's eyes and he heard her in his laugh, and the life he shared with Roland was a good enough consolation.

He smiles awkwardly as a couple passes him, smiling in return as they cross the room to their workstation, and the little voice reminds him that it isn't too late to back out, that no one would have to know he'd even considered any of this.

And then, the bell on the door jingles as she steps inside. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold and there are little flakes of white snow in her hair. He stands there, rooted in place, watching as she pulls off a black wool coat and hangs it with the others, and he can't stop the grin that pulled onto his lips as she grabbed one of the plain white aprons and exchanges pleasantries with a few other lingering students. Her dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she's wearing a blue and red button-up flannel with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She looks comfortable and content, and like the sort woman you'd cuddle up with on the couch to watch something from the DVR after pulling the kids to bed. His stomach flutters when she laughs out at something someone said to her, and it's a nearly musical sound.

Drawing in a deep breath, he tries to get a handle on himself–and he presses his eyes closed as the little voice at the back of his head questions why he'd chosen to do something to completely desperate, and all he can do is hope that it all doesn't go awry.

The first time he'd seen her he'd been with Roland. It was just after Christmas and he was making his way slowly to the Merry Men Tavern to watch the Rangers game with John and some other friends. He'd decided to walk instead of taking the subway, hoping he and his son could enjoy the last of the Christmas lights and festive decorations one last time before they'd be taken down and packed away until the following year. Roland, however, was none-too-pleased to be taking the slow route, and within only a couple of blocks, he was whining that his feet hurt and lamenting that he'd have to wait longer for his promised rootbeer float.

As they'd rounded the corner, he stopped to scoop him up and toss him up onto his shoulders–and that's when he'd first saw her, standing at the workstation he was now standing at. She'd been kneading dough and listening a sweet-looking older woman, who he could only assume was the instructor, stood at her side, talking. He couldn't hear what either of them said, but the instructor was gesturing with her hands and the dark-haired woman with the gorgeous smile was nodding along–and when she punched her fist into the mound of dough, they both burst out in laughter.

In that moment, he'd been unable to move. He was completely captivated by her–by her smile and the way she laughed–and he'd felt he felt something he hadn't felt in years, and he found himself craving it and unable to look away from her. He wasn't the sort of person who believed in love at first sight and he was of the belief that love had to be earned. With Marian, they'd been friends first, and from there love had slowly blossomed; yet, there he was, standing on the sidewalk in front of a window, inexplicably drawn to the stranger in front of him, watching her and wanting, more than anything, to know her.

And now, here he is, signed up for a class he had absolutely no interest in taking, simply to get to know her.

"Hi," she says, her voice forcing his eyes to open and his mouth to go dry. "I'm Regina."

"Uh, Robin," he murmurs, clearing his throat. "I, um…" He blinks at the metal basket of ingredients sitting on the workstation in front of her. "Am clearly missing something."

Regina laughs and nods. "First time here?"

"Yes," he admits as he offers her a sheepish little grin. "I'm… feeling quite out of my element."

His breath catches as she reaches for his hand, leading him over to a large stainless steel refrigerator at the back of the room. She explains that she's been taking these classes weekly for years now, and though she doesn't need to take cooking classes–she's quite the ameture chef–it's a hobby and she enjoys it. He nods, swallowing hard as she selects one of the remaining baskets and over the light purring of the refrigerator and loud thumping beats of his heart, he hears something about a someone named Henry, and how he loves a good, homemade meal.

Pressing his eyes closed, he resists the urge to sigh in disappointment as his lung deflate–and when takes the basket from her, he can't help but notice her ring.

Shit.

He smiles though and thanks her for her help as they walk together back to their shared workstation–and she makes a quip about the classes before Valentine's Day are always a bit fuller than the rest, filled with people either trying to score a date or impress their significant others with a special meal."

"That's not surprising," he muses, clearing his throat as he sets his basket down into the cutting board as he thinks of Roland, poking his fork into microwaved green bean and asking if vegetables were supposed to taste like cardboard–and he ventures that even if he had signed up for the class looking for a date, he has no interest in pursuing a married woman and it wouldn't hurt him to take a cooking class or twelve. His son could only benefit and he renews his focus on picking up a skill or two. "If I cook, it's of the microwaved variety."

"Ah," she nods. "So, you're here to impress someone."

"His name is Roland," he admits with a soft laugh. "He's my–"

"Alright!" A man calls out in a thick Irish accent. "Who's ready to get started?"

Robin blinks and Regina giggles softly as she turns to face forward and the man, who he quickly realizes is their instructor, introduces himself as Killian Jones.

"He's… not who I thought would be teaching."

"You expected Mrs. Lucas. We all call her Granny."

"The sweet old lady with her hair tied up in a bun?" Regina nods. "Yeah, that's who I expected."

"This is her nephew," she replies. "He fills in for her sometimes."

"Oh," he nods–suddenly realizing he was never able to explain who Roland was and just as suddenly realizing it didn't actually matter. "Is he… wearing a leather apron?"

Regina nods. "It's to match his leather pants." Robin's brow arches and she giggles again as his eyes linger on their instructor, noting tight leather pants and thick eyeliner. "You're in luck," Regina muses. "He's brilliant."

Robin can only nod as he watches her light the burner, and as he looks around, he notices that all the other students are doing the same. Killian is walking around the the room, nodding as everyone reaches into the drawers in front of the to fish out their potato peeler. By the time he looks back to Regina, one of her potatoes is already peeled and set to the side of the cutting board–and he realizes, that while he was taking in the leather-clad instructor, he missed the first of the instructions.

Awkwardly, he spins the dial on the burner to high heat, and then, glancing to Regina's burner, he frowns and turns the dial in the opposite direction

"You don't want to give your potatoes a shock," Killian tells him, winking as their eyes meet. Robin grins and nods as a sly smile edges onto the instructor's lips. "You've got to ease them into their bath, then let the bubbles do their magic."

"Oh, right…" He murmurs as Killian leans on the edge of the workstation, and a little giggle escapes Regina. "So, medium heat."

Killian nods, watching as he starts to peel the potato, letting the blade skim over it as his eyes shift to Regina, watching how quickly she peels, her fingers twisting the potato as the skin falls in ribbons down to the cutting board. "Softer," Killian says, bringing his attention back to the potato between his fingers. "You're cutting away too much."

"Aren't I just going to… mash it up."

"Yes, but at the rate you're going, instead of potatoes for two, you'll have potatoes for one, and…" A coy grin edges onto his lips as he laughs softly to himself. "And that'd be a pity." Robin nods and shifts on his feet, letting the peeler skim slower over the potato–and he smiles when Killian nods encouragingly. "Just like that," he breathes out, pushing himself away from the counter. "Keep going. I'll be back."

Robin nods as he watches him go, and then, his eyes slide to Regina as another giggle escapes her. "He likes you."

"He… probably just thinks I'm hopeless."

"He always picks one… special case."

"You mean, someone who's culinary skills are so severely lacking they need in constant supervision?"

She presses her lips together and drops her potatoes into the water. "And one that's cute."

Irrationally, he feels himself brighten. "You're saying I'm cute?"

"I'm saying that he thinks you are."

"Cute and… domestically challenged," he sighs. "This sounds like it has all the makings of a bad made-for-tv movie. Fantastic." His brow furrows as she turns up the heat and reaches into her basket, grabbing the little jars of spices and the wrapped meat. "How do you… just know what comes next? I might've missed the first step, but has hasn't–"

Regina's laugh interrupts him and she leans forward, plucking a recipe card from the basket. "The instructions."

"Oh."

"He said if we were comfortable moving ahead, we could."

"So, not me."

She shakes her head and her nose scrunches. "Still, it's helpful to look at."

"Oh," he mutters quietly to himself, sighing as he reaches for his second potato, paying close attention as he skims the peeler over the skin. "I'm sure."

For awhile, they stand side-by-side in silence. He looks a the recipe card–noting that she's at least three steps ahead–and when he drops his second potato into the pot, Killian passes by offering an encouraging good and a passing wink that illicit yet another giggle from Regina. And every now and then, he catches the soft scent of her perfume–something warm, maybe vanilla and something else he can't quite place–and despite how stressed he feels measuring out little spoonfuls of spices to just-the-right-amount, her presence relaxes him. Killian returns to the front of the room, telling everyone to bring the potatoes to a boil and to carefully mix their spices and give their pork chops a good rub.

Robin does as he's told and keeps a watchful eye on the not-boiling water as he mixes his spices into a little bowl–and his he grins a little awkwardly as Killian passes him by and tells him it's time to turn up the heat.

"Alright," he sighs, looking over at her as some most of the cracked pepper falls from the pork chop to the cutting board beneath it. "I have a question." Regina looks up from her pork chops and a soft smile edges over her lips as she twists the cap back onto her little bottle of olive oil–and momentarily, he gets caught up in her smile, ignoring the reasons he shouldn't. "Your pork chops look the way my cutting board does. How do I get the spices to actually stick like that?"

She laughs, "Oh, well, there's an easy little trick to–"

"You've gotta oil 'em up," Killian says, coming to lean against the workstation as he plucks the bottle of olive oil from Robin's basket–and Robin watches as Regina bites down on her bottom lip in an effort not to laugh, and then before he can even look away, Killian is reaching for one of his hands. Robin's eyes widen as Killian uncaps the olive oil and drizzles it onto his palm–and then, he spreads it over his palm and fingers before reaching for his other hand. "Now," he says in a low voice when Robin's other hand is oiled, "Give those chops a good run down." Beside him, Regina sucks in a breath, snickering as he looks away–and he swallows hard, and nods as he reaches for the meat. Killian nods, watching as he covers the pork chops in oil. "There you go," he says, nodding to the little bowl of spices, "Now, dip them."

Robin nods and does as instructed–and when he pulls the first chop away, it looks the way Regina's did–and he grins proudly at his handiwork. Killian claps his head hand against his arm as he moves to the next workstation to check on someone else's progress. Slowly, Robin turns to Regina, chuckling softly as his he shakes his head and when she looks back at him, her cheeks are red and her eyes are teary, and before he can say anything, she bursts out laughing.

He can't help but smile at her laugh–and once again, his chest flutters. He's not as nervous as he was before–perhaps that's the benefit of flirting with someone you can't actually have–and when she reaches out and takes hold of his hand, he lets his fingers form around her palm.

She helps him to oil his pan, and she keeps looking back, keeping a watchful eye on Killian who's hovering at the back of the room and the last of the workstations. "So, you're going to want to sear them…" Her voice trails off as his brows arch and he shakes his head, and she laughs again, this time softer and quieter. "Hold them down in the pan for five minutes on each side."

"Oh…" He murmurs, nodding as he drops one of the pork chops into the oil–and then immediately, he jumps back as the oil splashes up. His cheeks redden when he realizes the little high-pitched yelp that accompanied his less-than-graceful movements–and again, Regina bursts out in laughter. "I'm clearly the pinnacle of competency and manliness. It's a very good thing that I'm not looking to impress anyone here."

"Not even Killian?"

He shakes his head and a little grin tugs onto his lips as her eyes meet his. "No." Regina reaches for the dial on the stove, lowering the heat as she nods to his potatoes, noting the hot white foam that's threatening to spill over the top. "Oh, shit," he breathes out, reaching for the oven mitt and pulling the pot to the cutting board. "I guess I really do deserve to be the teacher's special pet project."

"Everyone's a bit clumsy their first time," Killian says, grinning as his hand slips over his back. "You'll get the hang of it."

Robin nods and looks to him. "Thanks, but I… I think I might be hopeless." He shrugs and looks to Regina, watching as she slices an apple and his brow creases. "Where the hell did the apple come from?"

"The basket," Regina says simply. "There's an onion you need to slice up, too."

"Apples and valentine's go hand-in-hand," Killian tells him, cocking his brow as he lifts the apple from Robin's basket. "You know, in Medieval times, apple was thought to be something of an aphrodisiac."

Robin blinks as Killian offers a quick wink and continues making rounds around the room. "Oh… I didn't know that. Thanks, um… for that information."

"It also pairs well with pork," Regina cuts in, biting down on her lip to stop herself from yet again laughing, as Killian looks back at him from over his shoulder. "But then, I think apple goes with everything. Or, at least that's what my son says."

"Your son?"

"Henry," she says, nodding. "He's ten and… has discovered sarcasm."

At that, he laughs. "My son will be six this spring, and… it'll be a good day when he discovers sarcasm. He's quite the literalist and it's exhausting."

"You say that now, but when he's older and being sassy and refusing to clean his room, you're going to miss that little literalist… who believed that his Elf on the Shelf was really a spy for Santa and that if he told a lie, his nose would grow."

Robin watches as she drops the apple slices into the pan and reaches for the onion. "It sounds like you and your husband have your hands full."

Regina's brow furrows. "I'm not mar–" She stops. "Oh, the ring."

"Typically a ring on that finger of the left hand usually symbolizes marriage."

She nods. "I was supposed to–" She stops and her eyes narrow. "My friends keep telling me I should take it off, but I can't quite bring myself to do that." She pauses and he watches as she looks down at the ring, rubbing her thumb against it. "Henry's father and I were engaged. He died suddenly and…"

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have–

"It's okay," she murmurs. "It was a long time ago and I…"

"Still," he cuts in as her voice trails off. "I lost my wife three years ago, and I'm still not quite sure how I'm supposed to move on, even though everyone tells me that's what I'm supposed to do."

"Your wife," murmurs softly. "I thought–" She stops and her cheeks flush a little and she shakes her head. "Now it's my turn to apologize. I thought–"

"You thought Roland was my boyfriend."

"I did," she nods. "Why didn't you correct me?"

"It didn't seem to matter, really," he murmurs as he shrugs his shoulders. "It seemed a moot point, considering I thought you were married."

She smiles softly and clears her throat, her eyes shifting away from him as she points to his porkchop. "You should… um… flip that before it burns."

For a second, he doesn't understand, but he follows her gaze to the pan, suddenly remembering the searing pork chops. He offered her a thankful smile as he flipped it–and the butterflies he'd felt earlier in the evening came back in full force.

He watches as she quickly slices the onion and drops it into the pan, then lowers the heat before measuring out a cup of apple cider. Slowly, she pours it in and once more adjusts the heat before covering up the saucepan–and then, a little grin edges onto her lips.

"So, you're here to impress your son?"

"What?"

"Earlier tonight, I asked you if you were here to impress someone and you said you were here to impress Roland–so, your son."

His eyes press closed. "I should say yes," he murmurs as his eyes open. "And I am sure that Roland would love to come home from school and not eat something from a box, but Roland isn't the reason I took this class tonight."

"Oh? Then–"

"I wanted to meet you," he says, cutting in abruptly and watching as her brows arch. "I… took the class, hoping that I'd have the chance to talk to you."

She blinks. "How did… I mean…" Her voice trails off and she shakes her head. "I don't understand. How did you even know that I'd be here or who I am?"

He swallows hard and suddenly, his mouth goes dry. "I… I saw you once or twice in the window. I was my way to watch the Ranger's game at my buddy's bar and you were laughing and you looked…" His voice trails off as he shrugs his shoulders, realizing how pathetic that probably sounds to her. "I… wanted to know you and I thought maybe if we hit it off here, we could… grab coffee or a drink or maybe even dinner sometime." His eyes press closed, "And now that I'm saying it aloud, I have to agree with a friend of mine who said this was creepy and desperate and–"

"Kind of sweet."

His eyes widen as he looks to her. "What?"

She nods, "It's sweet that you… wanted to get to know me. What would have been creepy is if you'd waited outside or something and asked for my number as I was walking to my car."

"That sounds like a great way to get maced."

She laughs and then her smile fades. "I don't date though." Taking a breath, he nods and look back at his searing pork chop. He'd seen that coming. "But if you were to show up here again next week, I wouldn't be opposed to sharing a workstation with you."

A soft grin edges onto his lips and his stomach flutters as he looks back to her. "Would that really be fair to Killian? Taunting him with what he can't have?"

At that she laughs out, rolling her eyes as she looks to Killian, standing at a workstation showing another one of the students how to core the apple. "Don't take this the wrong way, but he'll find someone else to flirt with. He… flirts with everyone." She sighs and nods in Killian's direction, and they both watch as he smiles slyly at an elderly woman examining her apple. "Literally everyone."

"He didn't flirt with you."

"He has his limits," Regina murmurs, tapping the handle of his pan as a reminder to check the porkchop. "And flirting with his cousin is definitely one of those limits." Robin's eyes widen as he lowers the heat and he watches as she reaches for his apple. "Besides, he owes this to me," she tells him. "I haven't had a date in… years."

"Is that what it'd be if I came to class next week? A date?"

She reaches for one of the knives and a coy little grin edges onto her lips. "I don't know," she admits. "But it's been fun having a partner for the evening and… I like you." She shrugs her shoulders and her cheeks flush slightly as she looks to him. "And I'd like to get to know you better, too." Drawing in a breath, she turns back to her side of the workstation and reaches for a spoon, pulling the boiled potatoes from the pot and dropping them into a glass bowl. "So, if you're willing to show up here next week and spend an hour or so making pot roast or shrimp scampi or whatever with me, I… think I'd enjoy it."

"I think I would, too."

A little grin tugs up at the corner of her mouth and she bites down on her lip as she reaches for the potato masher–and once again, his stomach flutters, but unlike earlier there's no dread or nausea and all he feels is excitement for what's to come.


	2. Just Friends

Whatever _this_ was, it'd been going on for months.

She didn't expect it to last. In fact, she would have bet money on it not lasting–on him losing interest in the cooking classes and her and fading away until they didn't remember each other anymore. Yet here he was, sitting across from her at a little table inside the lobby of the community center, waiting for their cooking class to start and making her laugh with his dry, British humor and expressive eyes.

She'd nearly cancelled that night–after all, she didn't _need_ the classes. Work was a disaster and she'd had to stay late, and then by the time she finally got home, she was in a bad mood. Henry refused to eat, complaining of a stomach ache, which she quickly realized was an excuse to make her think he needed to stay home from school the next day to get out of a science test he didn't want to take. That had led to an argument and she was tired enough to actually engage, and by the end of it, Henry was stomping up the stairs and slamming his bedroom door–and all she wanted to do was take a long, hot shower and get into a pair of pajamas. She'd actually been in the middle of sending a text to Killian when Ruby let herself into the house, and when she tried to back out, Ruby wouldn't let her, reasoning that a sitter was there to watch Henry and she could use a little time away to cool off and relax.

Robin brightened immediately when he spotted her, grinning and waving her over to the little table where he was sitting, drinking soda and eating a sad little turkey and cheese wrap from the cafeteria. She'd smiled back and joined him, and though it didn't look very good, she'd accepted half of the wrap and let him buy her a soda from the vending machine. It wasn't until then that she realized how hungry she was–and Robin didn't hesitate to offer to share the bag of chips that came with his wrap.

He was easy to be around, and she found that she looked forward to the cooking classes more than she used to. She liked having a partner at her cooking station who asked her questions about her day and asked for advice about whatever phase his son was going through–and really, she found that she liked having a friend.

They didn't see each other outside of the cooking classes, but every now and then, she found herself thinking of him. When she was at the grocery store and saw that the Jackfruit was on sale, she'd giggle softly and remember the time they'd had to cut one up for a recipe, and he'd looked down at it, absolutely perplexed as a barely audible _what the fuck is that_ slipped out of him. She thought of him whenever Henry out grew something that he'd barely worn, wondering if his son might get some use out of it. She thought of him when she caught a glimpse of the Rangers score and whenever she spotted an advertisement featuring a man in leather pants or wearing eyeliner or just looking provocatively toward the camera–and she thought of him whenever she felt lonely, standing in her own kitchen.

As she picked apart her part of the wrap and drank the soda, she found herself unloading about her day–and she found him listening and nodding along, not trying to make excuses for anyone or tell her what she should do or feel. He just listened and let her have her moment.

"Sorry," she murmurs, blushing a bit as her finger rubs at the label of the soda bottle. "I'm sure you don't want to hear all about my–"

"Quite the contrary," he cuts in. "I'm glad to listen. I… know what it feels like to have something you want to get out and only a child to tell it to."

She nods and chuckles softly. "I just don't want to scare you away," she says. "Who else would open jars of capers for me during cooking class?"

"That's… incredibly unlikely," he tells her. "Partially because I need you to tell me what capers are and why I should put them in my food."

A little laugh bubbles out of her and her eyes shift down to the wrap in front of her. "I can't believe I'm hungry enough to eat this thing. The tortilla is _wet_."

"It's not that bad–a little moist, but–" His voice trails off and he shrugs when her nose scrunches. "Maybe one day you can show me how to make a wrap better than this one."

For a moment, she just looks back at him, then she feels herself nod as he shoves the rest of the wrap into his mouth. "Yeah. Maybe."

"We should go."

"Oh," she murmurs, looking to the watch on her wrist. "It's been an _hour_? I went on about my shitty day for an entire hour?"

"Yes, and if we sit here any longer, we'll be late." He chuckles softly to himself, and a grin pulls onto his lips. "And I've just remembered that Granny won't be teaching today. Killian's subbing in for her and if I walk in late, I feel like he's going to stare at my ass as I walk past him."

Giggling, she downs the last of her soda. "He'll do that either way, you know."

"I know," Robin sighs. "But at least if we're early, there won't be an audience."

Smirking up at him, she nods, plucking up the last chip and popping it into her mouth. By the time she's done and gathered up her garbage, Robin is standing, and when he offers her his hand, she doesn't hesitate to take it, allowing him to help her up from the table. They toss their garbage and walk down the short hallway toward the cooking room, and a bit awkwardly, he reaches around her, holding open the door– then, almost immediately, they notice Killian's gaze and playful grin as they enter.

Robin sighs and shakes his head as she struggles to keep in her laugh. They make their way to the back pantry to collect their ingredients, and as they turn toward their workstation, Robin reaches for her basket, taking it and carrying it for her, offering a quick wink as he does so–and as they walk slowly toward the front of the classroom, she finds herself feeling incredibly grateful for their friendship.


	3. First Date

She shouldn't be nervous, yet she is.

Her stomach fluttering, she can't quite figure out what to do with her hands, and she's over thinking every move and sound she makes.

It's ridiculous, really-after all, not only has she known Robin for nearly a year, this whole thing was her idea.

She'd been thinking about asking him out for weeks, so finally, after one of the many cooking classes they'd taken together at the community center, she mustered up the courage to ask him. They'd stayed late to help Granny clean up-she was doing the dishes and he was drying them-when she'd casually asked what he was doing that coming Saturday. She'd laughed as his eyes narrowed as he slowly asked why she wanted to know-and when she told him she was hoping he might want to go out on a date, his smile was immediate.

She knew that he'd say yes-wanting to date her was the reason behind the many classes he'd taken over the last year-but still, she held her breath and waited. He made a big production out of checking his calendar and hemming and hawing about the date- _So, you said this Saturday?_ and _This is sort of last minute, you know_ -and then he grinned that sweet, charming grin of his and told her a date with her seemed like the perfect way to spend a Saturday.

Her cheeks flushed as he posed the obvious next question, asking what the date would entail-and as she stared blankly at him he began to riddle off possibilities.

He suggested they go bowling-to which she scrunched her nose at the thought of the always-smelly rented shoes-and when it was clear that wasn't something she wanted to do, he suggested feather bowling-and though she didn't know if that required rented shoes, she didn't actually know what that was and so she shook her head.

Her head tipped to the side and she began having serious second thoughts when he tossed out the suggestion of axe throwing and before she could utter the words " _are you fucking serious?"_ he backtracked, saying archery was more of a date-like activity-a statement to which she profusely disagreed.

Quickly, he moved onto karaoke-something his friend's bar apparently did on weekends-and before he even finished the suggestion, she was cutting him off with an empathic " _there's not enough alcohol in the world to make me do that."_ Robin laughed and moved onto another handful of suggestions-all of which she found fault in-and then, offering a sheepish little shrug, she told him she was thinking something boring, along the lines of dinner and maybe a movie, depending if she could find a sitter willing to stay that long.

Momentarily, she thought he'd be disappointed, but it was quite the contrary. He smiled brightly and told her he was looking forward to it-and then, with an adorably dopey grin spread across his lips, he resumed drying the dishes.

They'd settled on an upscale chophouse that Robin suggested and as they sat down at a small table by a window, she reminded herself of how well they knew each other, how comfortable she was with him, how much he seemed to like her-and as he cracked opened the menu and skimmed the wine list, he made a joke about promising not to dine-and-dash.

"I can't believe I'm nervous," she tells him after the waiter pours them each a glass of South African shiraz. "It seems silly."

He takes a sip of the wine and rubs his fingers along the base of the glass. "I'm nervous, too," he admits. "I've… wanted this for so long, I'm convinced I'll screw it up somehow."

She grins, biting down on her bottom lip. "I… don't think you'll do that."

"I mean, it seems unlikely. You already know how bad my jokes are, but you never know. Stranger things have happened."

She laughs softly and shakes her head, reaching for her own glass of wine as she considers just how long this moment has been building. She thinks of all of the flirtatious comments and stolen glances, all of the times they'd (purposely) bumped into each other before class and ended up sharing a sandwich, of all the times they'd stayed late to help Granny clean up led them to this exact moment. She thinks of all the time they spent talking as they cooked-teasing each other, venting about single parenthood, talking about mundane topics like the weather and traffic. She was comfortable with him, and even though she hadn't dated in what seemed like a lifetime, this wasn't a typical first date. Instead, she was jumping in at the fiftieth.

"Can I ask you something?"

She blinks up at him as she sips her wine. "Sure."

"What did you really think when I told you I'd taken that first cooking class to get to know you? I know at the time you said it was sweet-"

"And you called it desperate-"

He laughs, "I believe I also called it creepy."

"It wasn't, though," she says, remembering it. "I was… flattered. No one's ever gone out of their way for me like that, and you were charming company that night."

He seems self-satisfied with that, leaning back and grinning. "So, your first impression of me was that I was charming."

"Well, no, I thought you were gay." His brows arch and he laughs. "I was convinced you were there for Killian. I was ready and willing to be his wingman."

Robin nods, smirking as he considers it. "He is my type-dark hair, great smile, bold."

"You think I'm bold?"

"Sassy," he clarifies. "When you want to be." And then a grin edges onto his lips. "And something tells me you'd have been a natural archer, if you'd given it a shot."

Her shoulders relax as she opens her menu. "Next time," she promises.


	4. Left to Their Own Devices

Robin frowns as he reads the text a second time, sighing as he looks around the busy community center and wondering if Regina will still show up or if she's already seen the text and won't even bother.

He's disappointed for a lot of reasons, not getting an excuse to see her being near the top of the list. But he was especially looking forward to tonight's class because tonight his suggested recipe had been selected and tonight Granny was going to teach them all to make Hugarian Goulash—a favorite of Roland's and Roland's request for his birthday dinner next week. But alas, Granny was sick and Killian, who usually filled in for her, had a date with David, a blonde-haired, blue-eyed cop, who'd had a starring role in all of Killian's most recent stories. From what he gathered, it'd been something of a chase and now that David finally agreed to go out with him, he wasn't going to give up the chance to teach a bunch of adults how to boil noodles and stew tomatoes.

Really, it was understandable. If he were in Killian's spot, there was no way he'd cancel the date.

Still, he was disappointed to miss class. He was disappointed that he wouldn't be able to learn how to make Roland's favorite dinner for his birthday and he was disappointed that he wouldn't get the chance to spend an evening with Regina.

In some ways, it seemed silly to keep attending these classes as a way of spending time with her; after all, they were officially dating now. They'd been out a few times by now—dinner once at an upscale chop house, an exhibit at local art museum another time, and a movie last weekend. For the life of him, he couldn't remember what movie they'd seen because instead of watching, they tucked themselves away in a dark back corner of the theater, making out like a couple of teenagers. They were getting increasingly comfortable with one another—they no longer needed the pretense of a cooking class—but, he liked them and he liked the additional time it allowed them.

Regina wasn't available on weekdays; the only reason she allowed herself to attend the cooking classes at the community center was because Henry's extracurricular activities allowed it. Otherwise, weekdays were dedicated to her son and her job. On weekends, she had a little more time—Henry still had his activities, but she didn't attend every practice, and he was at an age where traveling to tournaments with friends was much more fun than going with just his mom—and that's when she made time for their dates.

He understood. Roland was younger, but as the spring semester picked up, so did Roland's activities. He signed him up for Youth Soccer and when his best friend signed up for Cub Scouts, that meant Roland had to sign up, too. He joined a volunteer group at school that picked up recyclables around the school and one afternoon each week, the school's media center offered a Maker's Space and Roland was obsessed.

"I am going to murder him," Regina huffs as she walks up to the table where he sits, turning her phone to Robin, showing off Killian's text. "He could have warned me."

"It was rather last minute."

"That's how he is," she sighs, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from him. "Granny canceled nine hours ago. He knew about this date."

"Maybe he was trying to reschedule?"

Regina's brow arches with skepticism. "He'd never reschedule a chance to get laid. He just feels bad about ditching us, so he avoided the subject until he couldn't anymore."

Robin smiles. She's cute when she's annoyed, he finds himself thinking.

"Have you been waiting long?"

"Ten minutes or so," he murmurs. "I'm not eager to sit in rush hour traffic, so—"

"So here you are."

"Here I am," he nods. "To be honest, I'm glad you came, even though it wasn't terribly convenient for you."

A grin tugs at the corner of her mouth. "Well, I _did_ want to see you," she admits. "But had I known my cousin was going to plan class, I'd have figured something else out for us to do." She shrugs. "I could've made us dinner or—"

"That would have been really nice."

"It would have been," she says, nodding in agreement. "Instead we're stuck here with vending machine sandwiches."

"Hey, the tuna's not terrible," Robin tells her, laughing as he shakes his head. "I mean, I've had worse."

Her brow furrows. "I worry about you," she tells him. "I'm surprised you haven't died of botulism or—"

"You're not the first to tell me that," he tells her, grinning as her eyes roll. "Truly, you're not the _only_ reason I take these cooking classes." Regina chuckles softly at that. "You know, for awhile, John was convinced you didn't exist and that I was only using a woman I was interested in as an excuse to take classes to learn how to fry eggs and make pasta."

"I can't believe you lack these skills," Regina tells him. "I mean, I do believe it because I've seen you in action in the kitchen, but—" Her voice halts and she laughs. "You have a child."

"I also have a best friend with a restaurant that serves chicken fingers, friends, and macaroni and cheese."

"A bar with a toddler's menu, nice."

"Drunk folks and toddlers have a lot in common, you know."

Her eyes narrow. "But you have to eat at home some of the time."

"I admit, I've had a lot of help since Marian passed. John lives in my building and he cooks, so it's not just eating out, and up until recently, her mother would stop by once a week with a load of food. All I ever had to do was pop things into the microwave."

"What changed?"

"John got a girlfriend," he says wryly, "And about two months before I met you, Marian's mother passed away."

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that."

Robin nods. "Roland misses her and, admittedly, so do I. She never liked me much, but she was a constant in our lives, especially after losing Marian."

"And she kept you fed—"

"I especially miss that. I was always grateful, but I didn't realize just how grateful I was for that."

"And now you take cooking classes."

"I do," he says, a slightly awkward chuckle bubbling out of him. "In fact, tonight, my recipe was picked."

"You put a recipe into Granny's suggestion box?"

He nods. "Hungarian Goulash."

"I wondered why she picked something with such a long cook time—"

"Probably why she added that cucumber salad we were supposed to make."

"Probably."

"It's Roland's favorite. Marian's mother used to make it for him all of the time." Regina nods understandingly. "He asked if he could have it for his birthday dinner."

"Isn't his birthday tomorrow?"

Robin nods. "Indeed it is. I was, uh… I was hoping I could learn how to make it and convince you to give me your pot of stew, too, and it could be our dinner tomorrow."

"Ohh, I could _murder_ Killian for cancelling on you! That horny bastard."

Robin shrugs. Really, he doesn't fault Killian for cancelling, though he is minorly annoyed over the late notice. "I googled it. There's a place downtown that has it, apparently. I was going to call and see if—"

"No," Regina interjects, her voice firm and decisive. "What if it's terrible? Not many restaurants around here are known for Hungarian cuisine." She brightens. "And besides that, there's a kitchen down the hall full of the ingredients to make it. I know everything was prepped last night. It's always ready the day before."

His brow arches with interest. "Are you suggesting that we break into the kitchen and have our own little class?"

"My aunt wouldn't mind." She reaches across the table and takes his hand, squeezing it. Even if he didn't want to do this, even if he wasn't desperate to do it, he'd be undoubtedly convinced now. "It'll be fun!"

A grin stretches across his lips. "I don't doubt that for a moment."

Regina gets up and tugs him toward the classroom, fishing out a key from an inner pocket for her purse, explaining that Granny gave it to her about a year before, when Killian started filling in for her here and there. It doesn't surprise him to learn that Killian isn't the most organized fellow and he often complains that Granny's bulky ring of keys don't fit discreetly into his pants. At that, Robin laughs when Regina makes a lewd joke at her cousin's expense, and now that he considers it, the few times he's been at class with Killian, he's worn a ring of keys around his neck. He merely thought it was an odd sort of fashion statement, just like the collection of rings Killian wore.

They get into the room and Regina locks the door, keeping the "cancelled" sign in place. She flicks on the light and makes her way to the back of the room to where the refrigerators are. He watches her go, appreciating the way her slacks hug her ass, and he grins at the realization that he no longer has to feel guilty about ogling her in class.

He comes up behind her as she's washing the vegetables, draping his arm around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. She smiles back at him, pecking his lips quickly before turning her attention back to the task at hand.

They talk idly about what she's doing—more specifically, what's included in the recipe and the flavor it brings—and as she finishes the washing, she instructs him toward their workstation.

"I figure, since it's just the two of us, we can take enough to make a real batch of goulash. You'll have leftovers, but from the sound of things, I can't imagine you or Roland would mind that."

"No, we wouldn't," he replies. "And it's a lot better than the sample size we normally get."

She smirks. "That's called a _serving_ size." His eyes roll as she takes a breath, getting out the proper utensils and putting them in the order that she'll use them. "Are you ready for class to start?"

"Very much so," he murmurs, coming a bit closer.

She grins back at him and then goes through the recipe card. He only half pays attention, distracted by how close she's standing. She smirks at him, shaking her head and fully aware that he's not listening. But she seems amused and continues on about mixing the spices together in a little bowl.

"I might need help," he says, grinning slyly and wiggling his eyebrows as he takes the little bowl and a spoon. "Am I doing it right?"

"Softer."

"Can you show me?"

She shakes her head and then nods before coming up behind him and helping him mix the spices.

She's pressed up against his side and he can feel the warmth of her against him. Her fingers are soft and the perfume she's wearing has a soft, sweet scent. He has no idea what it actually is, but she always wears it and he likes it, likes the way it fills his senses and conjures memories of her.

"Okay, that's good," she tells him, eliciting a frown from him. "Now, I'm going to heat up the Dutch Oven. Can you handle getting the meat out of the packaging? If the chunks are too big, you can cut them. I'm not sure how Roland likes it, but when Henry was his age, everything had to be in bite-sized pieces."

"Roland will eat anything, as long as I'm not the one who's cooked it."

"Until now," she beams.

Laughing, he nods. "Until now."

Nonetheless, he chops up the meat a bit more and at her suggestion, he puts the pieces into a bowl, then dumps in the spices. He mixes it up until the meat is well-coated and he feels like he won the lottery when Regina smiles her approval.

While he does that, she chops up some onion, sauteing it in olive oil and then she does the same with the garlic. It smells heavenly.

"Didn't you say you were going to get the oven ready?"

"The Dutch oven," she telling him, nodding as her brow creases. "That's… that's what I'm doing."

"That's not an oven. It's a pot."

She blinks and her brows jut up in surprise. "Oh. Oh, no, no, no," she murmurs, trying to stifle her laugh. "This," she tells him as she points to the pot on the stove, "is a Dutch oven."

For a moment, Robin just stares at it—and then, he starts to laugh. "Well, that explains a lot and it explains why I couldn't find a recipe. I was trying to find one that didn't require a special sort of oven," he tells her, feeling a bit foolish. "Your aunt must think I'm an absolute idiot."

"An adorable one," she tells him, nudging his arm and grinning. "Now, add in the meat." He grins and nods, watching as Regina circles around the counter, selecting a new knife and examining little bottles filled with a brown liquid. "Keep turning the meat so that it doesn't burn."

Robin looks down at the meat and bites down on his lip. "It's browning—"

"It's supposed to," she tells him, grinning. "We'll add in some beef stock in a couple of minutes, then you won't have to watch it so carefully."

He nods and continues to push the meat around with a spatula, still unsure if he's doing it correctly. Regina opens up a can of tomatoes and dumps it in, then adds the stock and Worcestershire sauce, then she prompts him to give it a good stir before lowering the heat.

"Now what?"

"We wait about an hour."

"Oh—"

"I could make us a quick dinner. We have the cucumber salad. That's quick and easy, and I know Granny always keeps certain things on hand. I could probably figure something out." Robin nods, his stomach fluttering a bit as Regina takes his hand. He's still not completely used to affection from her, especially the small little things like holding his hand as they walk across a room. "So, the salad is really easy," she murmurs, opening up the refrigerator. "Just some slices of cucumbers and tomatoes, some feta cheese and some olive oil."

"Sounds like something not even I can screw up."

She laughs. "That might've been the point." She tosses him a bag of tomatoes. "Why don't we see?" Robin's brow arches. "I'm going to fry a couple of chicken breasts up. You make the salad." His eyes widen as he looks down at the tomatoes. "It's literally just chopping things and pouring in some dressing," she says sweetly, leaning up onto her toes and pecking at his lips. "You'll be fine. Let me know if you need help, okay?"

He nods, watching as she turns back to the refrigerator, choosing two chicken breasts—and all he can think of is how lucky he is to have her.

Swallowing hard, he focuses on the salad and when it's done, he beams with pride. It's a pretty salad and it looks harder than it was; but what earns that feeling isn't the salad, but Regina's reaction to it.

At some point, she took off her sweater and is wearing a white camisole and black dress pants. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and her feet are bare, and she's looking at him as if he's done something incredible. The chicken is cooked and sliced and she carries it over to where he's standing, letting her arm slip around his waist as they plate the food. "See," she murmurs. "It wasn't so bad."

"It wasn't."

"I bet you're better at this than you think you are. Your food always turns out great."

"Because of Granny… and you."

"We don't help as much as you think we do."

His brow arches and he offers her a playful scoff, but when he speaks, his voice is nothing but sincere. "I love you," he says without realizing it. "I truly have no idea what I'd do without you."

When he started to speak, he meant to say he wasn't sure what he'd do without her in the kitchen, but as the words came out, it became clear that wasn't all he meant. He loves her, he knows it and he's known it for a long time. But he's been hesitant to voice that, worried that he'd scare her off. From the start, she'd been quite clear about where they stood and he'd sworn that if friendship was all she had to offer, that was what he wanted. Little by little though, his feelings shifted. He was still attracted to her—that was never a question—but he started to think of her in a way that was more than just friendly. By the time she'd asked him out, he was already head over heels in love.

Her smile fades from her lips, but still shines through her eyes. For a moment, neither of them says anything and for a moment, he wonders if he's said too much or if he's said something she's not ready to hear. She looks a little taken aback, but not in a way that seems uncomfortable. She looks like she's struggling to find her voice and his heart is beating so fast, even if she did find it and respond, he's not sure he'd hear it.

"I, um… I just mean…"

"No, no, no," she cuts in, stepping in and pressing her hand to his chest. "Don't take it back. It was sweet."

"It's… funny," she begins, shifting her eyes up to meet his. "We've only had a few dates, but.. It just…"

She falters and he nods. "I know."

"I'm not quite ready to—"

"That's okay. You don't have to say it back," he's quick to say. "I didn't think I was going to say it either, though."

She laughs a little and nods, once more shifting toward him. Her hand presses harder against his chest as she leans up onto her toes, her lips brushing over his. She kisses him and he can't help but respond. At first, it's soft and sweet, but all the time, it's full of affection. Her tongue traces over his bottom lip before pushing inside of his mouth just as she steps forward, deepening the kiss as her hand settles at the back of his neck.

"We should eat," she murmurs as she pulls back. He nods a bit dumbly as she takes a step away from him, but as she does, her hand finds his and their fingers lace together.

She grabs her plate and he takes his, letting her lead him to the workspace next to theirs.

He's glad that their conversation shifts away from his feelings for her and toward the much easier to discuss topic of his son. He explains that the party will actually be two weekends from now because Marian's father is taking him camping the coming Saturday. On Roland's actually birthday, it'll just be the two of them, though. They'll have a little cake and open some gifts, and she asks what he got him. He rattles off a few video game titles and tells her about these shoes Roland's been eyeing that have soles that light up when he walks.

"Henry had a pair of those," she tells him, a sweet smile spreading across her lips at the memory. "But his had purple lights."

"Ah, the Buzz Lightyear version," he says knowingly. "Roland debated for _weeks_ between those and the Spiderman ones."

"So, Spiderman beat Buzz."

Robin chuckles, remembering the constant back-and-forth over the shoes, and how worried he was that by the time Roland made up his mind, the style he wanted would be sold out in his size. "He said the Buzz ones were too babyish as if any light up shoes could be considered grown up."

Regina grins. "They came out with the Spiderman ones about a year after Henry got the Buzz Lightyear ones. He was disappointed… until a little girl in his class got the Spiderman ones."

"Ah—"

"The Buzz was suddenly okay again."

Nodding, he laughs. "And, of course, I got him the always ill-appreciated, but obligatory box of socks and underwear, a couple of pairs of jeans…" He shakes his head as his voice trails off. "The kid's growing like a weed."

"I empathize more than I can say." Regina sighs. "Henry's going to be taller than me by his next birthday. I just know it."

"Well, Roland's got quite a way to go before he's taller than me, but… he's starting to look older, less babyish."

Regina grins empathetically, but before she can say anything, the over timer sounds, and they both nearly jump out of their skin.

"Come on," she says, taking his hand and pulling him toward their workstation. "We have to add the potatoes and carrots."

Robin nods and follows along, again taking a moment to appreciate the view as they cross the room.

Regina lifts a potato peeler and then starts dicing up the carrots. They resume their conversation about kids growing up too quickly.

"Do you want more?" she asks, making his eyes go wide as he looks up at her. "I mean, did you and Marian want a big family or—" She stops and then laughs. "Oh, this… probably is a bit awkward coming from your new girlfriend. I'm not implying that there's a correct answer here. I'm just—"

"I do," he tells her, holding his breath as he waits for her reply. "Eventually, I think."

"Me too."

He grins as her eyes cast down, and he thinks she might be blushing.

They continue prepping the rest of the vegetables—she chops much faster than he peels—and every now and then, as she waits for him to finish his part he catches her smiling at him. He can't quite read her expression, but it's fun and playful, and he thinks he likes it. She helps him to cut up the potatoes and as he adds them to the Dutch oven, she adds the carrots and sets a timer.

"How much longer now?"

"Another hour."

"Oh, damn—"

"Then we add the green pepper—"

His brow furrows as he looks to a little pile of chopped up bell pepper. "When did you—"

"While you were mixing the salad," she tells him, grinning.

"Ah—"

"Then, it's another half an hour."

"We'd have been right down to the wire for class." He takes a breath, watching as he adjusts the heat. "So, what should we do to pass the—"

He doesn't get to finish the question.

Regina turns to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close. She kisses him hard, her fingers pushing into his hair as she pushes him back against the edge of the counter. He's a little taken aback and slow to respond, but when he does, he _really_ does.

He breathes her in, one hand tangling in her hair as the other slides down over her ass as his tongue slides against hers. The kiss is loud and wet, and within just a couple of minutes, the effect it has on him is evident to the both of them.

Regina lets out a breathy little sigh and pushes closer, her leg wrapping around his calf as one of her hands falls down his back, sending a prickly sensation down his spine. She pulls back and grins before pushing herself back against him. He's getting harder and he shifts himself, but instead of shifting away from her, instead of putting a little distance between his body and hers, he shifts himself into her palm. She cups him through his jeans, rubbing her hand against him and making him harder.

He breaks the kiss and immediately, her lips settle at the crook of his neck.

She feels so damn good and it takes nearly everything in him not to spin her around and lift her onto the counter and have his way with her.

He thinks about it—picturing her unbuttoning her pants and pulling them down her legs, his hands roaming over her knees and up her thighs, her tugging him back to her and wrapping her legs around him. He groans and lets his head fall to the side, enjoying her lips on his skin and enjoying the fantasy its conjuring.

He pictures himself pulling her panties down over her hips. He imagines them to be a black lace thong and thin fabric curls and bunches as he pulls it down her legs. He thinks of her leaning back on her elbows and letting him get a good look at her, he thinks of her legs spreading open as he leans forward. He thinks of how he wants to make her scream.

But this isn't a fantasy that he can lose himself in.

She's right there with him and they've never done anything like this before.

And they're in the center of a crowded, public building. The doors are locked, but who knows who has a key. She did, after all.

Instead of dissuading him, that realization only seems to make him harder, seems to make him want her more.

It's been so long since he's had anyone like this, so he knows that it won't take much to push him over the edge, but he doesn't want to waste it, especially when he's not entirely sure where any of this is going.

But the thrill of it—the thrill of being with her, finally, after all this time—is almost too much.

"Regina—"

"Shhh."

"What are we—"

"Just go with it."

"I'm happy to—"

Her lips crash back down against his and he loses his train of thought. He can't remember why he pulled away and he can't remember what he was going to say, all he can think of is her.

"You have no idea how many times I've thought about this," she tells him, pulling back and looking up at him through hooded eyes. "So many times I've thought about doing exactly this right here."

"Here—"

"Mm," she nods, licking her lips as she tries to catch her breath. "Have you?"

He nods dumbly. He's thought about this more than he cares to admit. She smiles, laughing softly. "We have more than an hour to kill—"

"So, you want to—"

"Do you?"

She asks, but she already has her answer. Her hand is at his belt, tugging at is as she opens it and his erection is more than evident. He wants her and he wants her now, there's no doubt about that.

"Usually, when I think about this, I'm the one doing things to you."

She smirks. "Oh, I'm sure there's time for all sorts of things. I'll get a turn."

His belt is open and the button of his pants is undone. She eyes him as she pulls down his zipper—slowly, too slow—and he aches for her.

Finally, it's open, but it brings him no relief, but thankfully, she's eager and doesn't seem to want to tease him anymore. Regina tugs his pants down over his hips and takes his boxers down with him, and finally, his cock springs free.

He swallows hard as she licks her lips, looking up at him momentarily, and looking oh, so sexy when she does it. She grins and then shifts her eyes back to his cock, reaching for it and curling her fingers around it. She swipes her tongue from his balls to the tip, then back again. Her breath is hot against him and he can't help but think how good it'll feel when her lips form around him. She strokes him a few times, letting him slip through her closed fist and _fuck_ it feels so good.

He lets out a low moan and reaches for her hair, pushing her fingers into it.

Regina adjusts herself again, once more licking her lips before leaning back in. He lets out another moan as her lips suck at the top of his cock, her mouth feeling so hot and wet and _so_ god damn good.

She sucks him for a couple of minutes, her hand moving to his balls. She cups them, feeling their weight, and then she begins to lean in. Her lips slide over the head of his cock and down his shaft as she takes him in her mouth, and again, he can't stop the sound that escapes him.

"Oh, fuck, that feels good."

She pulls back slowly and then pushes forward again. She does it over and over again, her tongue swirling and her lips sucking until he feels his balls tightening. He knows he won't last much longer.

"Regina, I'm—"

She murmurs something, sending a soft vibration down his cock as she takes him in her mouth again, sucking eagerly until he explodes. Her eyes cast up as he does it and she's almost grinning. When he's done, she swallows it, sucking a little longer at the tip as his cock begins to soften. Then slowly, she rises.

She pushes herself against him—practically wrapping herself around him—as she kisses him.

Her kiss is salty and quick, and as his eyes flutter open he watches a smile edge onto her lips. "My turn," she whispers.

He nods, eagerly, ready to return the favor.

This evening is turning to be better than any fantasy.

Taking a breath, he turns her around, so that she's against the counter and he lifts her up onto the countertop. She licks her lips and reaches down, tugging off her camisole, leaving him grinning like an idiot at the sight of her breasts covered by a thin layer of burgundy lace—and it's only then that he realizes the lacy details of the camisole was actually her bra.

Her nipples are hard, pushing at the thin fabric, just begging to be sucked.

He grins and takes a step in, kissing her again as he fumbles with the clasp at the back of her bra. His grin turns triumphant as the bra loosens and the straps fall down her shoulders.

And then, he hears an odd click that makes them both stop.

Regina stiffens, but doesn't move and then as they look at one another, they hear the familiar squeak of the door.

Her eyes widen and she gasps a hushed _oh my fucking god_ , hopping off of the counter and reaching for her camisole. It's only then, without her in front of him, that he realizes he's still naked from the waist down, that his pants are still bunched around his ankles—then suddenly, the thought of Regina's aunt catching him bare assed in her kitchen is all he can think about.

He dives down, tugging at his pants.

Regina laughs at him, shaking her head, her eyes still wide, just as the door opens. He whirls around just in time to see a leather clad Killian standing there wearing a stupid smirk.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?"

"I, uh, was just…"

Regina clears her throat, pushing her hand through her hair in an effort to gain composure. "Class was, um... cancelled, so we, um—"

"Decided to get frisky in my kitchen?"

Robin swallows hard as his eyes shift to Regina. Her face is burning red. "No," she says in a small voice that clearly says yes.

"Had I not had a date with the dashing David, I'd be quite jealous of you, love," Killian says, looking to Regina. "But I've got my own muscular blue-eyed charmer ready to have his way with me." He grins, pointing to the cupboard. "I just need a bit of wine, you know, to help things along."

"You came here for wine?" Regina scoffs. "It's not a grocery store."

"Says the girl making her and her boyfriend dinner." Regina bites down on her lip, looking guilty over at Robin who can only offer a sheepish shrug. "Sam's always stealing my good stuff."

"His roommate," Regina whispers, looking to Robin a bit awkwardly as she crosses her arms over her middle.

"Ahh—" Robin nods, his eyes following Killian to the cupboard, and as he turns, he grimaces, realizing that he never zipped up his jeans.

Killian turns back to them, his eyes immediately falling to Robin's open fly. "Well, carry on then," he says, shrugging his brows as he looks up, hoisting up the bottle as if to toast. "Help yourself to my stash," he calls out, just before exiting.

For a moment, neither he nor Regina says anything. In fact, neither of them even so much as move. Instead, they stand firmly rooted in place, their eyes focused on the door.

"I want to crawl under the counter and die," Regina says, her voice barely audible.

Robin swallows hard. He understands the sentiment. "It… could've been worse. It could've been your aunt."

Regina turns her head, her eyes widening. "Oh my god, I didn't even think of that!"

"The mere thought is mortifying, let me tell you."

"I know," Regina murmurs. "I'm thinking about it now."

"Who else has a key?"

"I… don't know," she admits.

Taking a breath, he clears his throat. "So, uh, I assume it's safe to say that we won't be taking Killian's advice and carrying on?"

Regina shakes her head and gives him a regretful little smile. "I'm afraid not." He's a little disappointed, he'll admit, but he understands, and even thinks it might be for the best. He doesn't want their first time together to be like this. She matters to him far too much for that. "But I do think we've earned to snag a bottle of wine."

"Most definitely."

Regina goes to the wine cabinet and selects a bottle, then grabs two wine glasses. She walks back to the workstation where they ate and opens the drawer, fishing out a corkscrew, and by then, he's at the station with her. "It was fun, though," she tells him, as the cork pops off. "I don't regret it."

He sighs and nods. "I'm glad I'm not the only one who had fun."

"We should, um… try again," she tells him as she pours the wine. "In a… less public place."

He brightens. "I'd like that."

"You said Roland is camping this week?"

"Yes, with his grandfather."

"Henry has a sleepover at a friend's house," she tells him as she finishes pouring the second glass.

His excitement starts to build at how perfectly their busy schedules have aligned. "Oh, yeah? This Saturday?"

She nods. "You should come over, maybe around six?"

"Sounds perfect."

"I'll make dinner and then…" An adorable smile stretches across her lips as her cheeks flush slightly. "And then we'll pick up where we left off tonight."

"I can't wait," he tells her, raising his glass and clinking it against hers. "It's a date."


	5. The First Time

In just a few months, her life had completely changed—and she can't help but think that her old therapist would be proud of her. After all, for years, he'd tried to get her to this point. But, of course, she'd been stubborn, refusing to allow herself to move on and refusing to admit that her broken heart had somehow healed itself. Acknowledging that, she'd thought, would be a betrayal.

She'd made a promise once to Daniel and moving on felt like it meant she was breaking that promise.

Their life together had been anything but perfect. They were high school sweethearts, and neither of their parents approved of the relationship. He was too poor according to hers, and she was too entitled according to his. For so long, it was them against the world—and she loved that.

She'd turned down a full-ride scholarship to an Ivy League school just before graduation, throwing away every plan that had been made on her behalf for a life that she chose. They'd moved to what felt like the opposite end of the earth (really it was just Virginia), and Daniel joined the military while she enrolled in a community college, slowly working her way through night classes as they could afford them. She found a job in a coffee shop down the street from their little apartment near the base, and for two years, she felt like she was living in a dream.

Two days before he was deployed, he proposed. He'd picked her up and swung her around as she cried, saying yes over and over again. Then, two weeks after he left, she found out she was pregnant.

She continued to work and go to school—albeit at an even slower pace—and eventually, a few weeks after Henry was born she found herself in a new, higher paying office job that had flexible hours. The last time Daniel came home on leave they'd marked the end of his tour on the calendar. He'd returned to his post and she'd started her count down—just a little more than a year, she'd told herself, and then they'd be the happy little family they'd always dreamed about.

It was just under a week before he was supposed to return for good when a knock came at the door. Even as a man dressed in military blues stood in front of her, she hadn't understood—and when he told her that Daniel was missing in action and believed to be dead, she refused to believe it. She convinced herself that he was alive in some terrible prison or unidentified in some war hospital in the middle of the mountains without his memories. She convinced herself that he was alive, that she could still feel him with her.

It'd taken another year for her to accept the truth—Daniel was gone and never coming back.

But once she did, grief hit her hard, and she's certain that the only thing that brought her out of the fog, was Henry—Daniel's son.

She'd always been a loving and dedicated mother, but now she had to be his father, too.

When he was eight, she lost her job and was forced to make some changes—and at the request of her aunt, she returned to Maine with Henry in tow. Giving up the apartment where she and Daniel had built a life together had been difficult, but she'd traded that for the support of her family. Granny—what everyone called her aunt due to hair that had grayed in her thirties—invited them to stay with her for awhile.

For the first time since Henry was born, she had people around her who wanted to help, people who'd pick him up from school or take him on little outings, people who came over just because and took a genuine interest in him, and in her.

In addition to Granny, she had cousins (Killian and Ruby) who were ready and willing to help however she'd allow, and though she was incredibly grateful for that, it also made her realize just how isolated and lonely she'd been in her life in Virginia, and with that, came an incredible amount of guilt as though admitting she hadn't been happy there meant that she wasn't happy with Daniel.

She found a new therapist and a decent paying job, and after that, she'd rented a little apartment for her and Henry not far from her aunt. It was smaller than anything she'd ever seen before—technically two bedrooms, but not really—but it was enough, and Henry seemed to like it. His room wasn't much more than a walk-in closet with a window that overlooked Main Street, but they'd painted it his favorite shade of blue and stuck glow in the dark stars to the ceiling and put up decals of planets all over the walls. She'd found him a bedspread adorned with rocket ships and Killian bought him a huge metal NASA sign to go over his bed.

The living room, kitchen, and dining area took up the rest of the first floor, with a little bathroom and a closet off the kitchen. She had a TV, DVD player, and Henry's video games—and really, the living and dining rooms became an extension of his own room. On any given day, she'd come home from work to find that Henry had started a new lego set on the table, the pieces all sorted into piles and big, hand-written DO NOT TOUCH signs taped up.

Her room was upstairs—and really, the wrought iron metal staircase that led up to it had been half of the reason she'd wanted this specific apartment. She had a whole floor to herself along with her own bathroom. She'd painted them both a light gray color and decorated with purple and white floral bedding and white accents. It was her sanctuary, a place that was all hers, and the only thing that could've made it more perfect was the addition of a bedroom door.

Henry was good about not bursting in and always announced himself before coming up, and even then, the times that he did were limited. He was no longer at an age where he liked to cuddle with her in bed and no longer did thunderstorms have him diving underneath her covers. At ten years old, he'd suddenly become an independent little person.

Since moving to Maine, he'd come out of his shell. He joined little league, Boy Scouts, and robotics, he wrote for his class newspaper and couldn't get enough of the library, and he had a whole gaggle of boys who'd become his best friends.

This had been another adjustment, and one she'd struggled with.

Killian—who she'd become quite close with since moving back to Maine—suggested that perhaps dating could be a way to fill her time when Henry was busy, and that maybe dating could help her come out of her own shell. But she'd adamantly refused, practically hissing, _I don't date,_ before changing the subject entirely.

Soon after that conversation, she'd signed up for cooking classes that she didn't need on the nights Henry had Boy Scouts and little league—and soon after Killian had come over with a peace offering in the form of an expensive, waterproof vibrator, grinning coyly as he explained its several settings might help her to kill some time and take some of her edge off.

She'd been embarrassed and annoyed—but that night, it didn't stop her from taking it into the shower after Henry went to bed, and though she'd never actually admit it, she was eternally grateful for its presence in her life. After all, it was always there when she needed it and it never let her down.

Well, until now.

Among the many changes that came since moving to Maine, she'd recently started seeing someone. For a year, she'd kept him at an arm's length, insisting that she just wanted to be friends, all the while thinking of him while her vibrator buzzed between her legs.

Finally, a month before, she'd mustered the courage to ask him out. It was silly, really, to think she needed courage; after all, he'd never made it a secret that he was interested. But she'd spent a year putting him off, insisting that she wasn't ready to date.

Until she was.

And suddenly being ready to be with someone who wasn't Daniel was… a lot of things.

It made her both nervous and excited, and it filled her with both guilt and hope. It was such a strange, bittersweet feeling. When she was with Robin—there in the moment on their dates—she only felt the positives. There was a natural ease between them. She smiled and she laughed, and felt things she didn't know it was still possible for her to feel. And though she loved their time together, it was always too limited and too infrequent, and she found herself looking for ways to make it last just a little bit longer.

It wasn't until she was home, alone in her bedroom staring up at the dark ceiling when the negatives started to add up, and once they did, they were hard for her to shake.

For the last two weeks, they'd been trying to arrange some time alone—time when they didn't have to rush, and quite frankly, time they could enjoy each other a bit more intimately.

This was all relatively new territory for her, but she was fairly certain it wasn't supposed to be this hard. Yet when she was lying alone in her dark room, that doubtful little voice that had a tendency to pester her late at night wondered if that wasn't a sign of something.

Chewing at her lip, she reached for her phone and opened their string of texts, wondering if she could really call what she was about to ask for a booty call considering her was her boyfriend.

She sighs, practically rolling her eyes at herself.

They'd been out a handful of times in the last month and each date nudged them a little closer to this point; in fact, nearly a week before they'd planned a date with the not so subtle implication that sex would be involved. But that date hadn't happened, and instead of finally giving into the lust she'd been ignoring for the better part of a year, she found herself sitting on the bathroom floor rubbing her ten-year-old son's back as he puked from a mixture of too much pizza and too much sun. Killian came over to run drug store errands for Henry, getting him a bottle of Pepto Bismol and a liter of ginger ale; and then, he repaid himself with the pasta primavera that was intended for her and Robin...

Drawing in a breath, she types out a quick text.

 _What are you up to tonight?_

Pinching her eyes closed, she hits send and holds her breath, fully aware of how stupid she's being about this. Yet at the same time, this is new territory—but then, everything with Robin is.

She smiles gently as her phone buzzes on her chest.

 _Not a whole lot. John got Roland tickets to tonight's Rangers game for his birthday, so they're out enjoying that while I'm listening to the game on the radio and cleaning Roland's room. Livin' the dream._

Laughing, she starts to respond, but another text pops up.

 _It still amazes me that someone so small can make such a big mess._

She smiles again and shakes her head. She spent the first few years of Henry's life wondering the same thing.

 _Henry's at an unexpected sleepover._

She sends the text, then hesitates after quickly typing a follow up. She's never done this before.

 _Do you want to come over?_

Almost immediately, the message changes from delivered to seen, and three gray little dots appear, then stop and appear again.

 _Yes._

The dots start and stop again and again, and a giggle bubbles out of her at his failed attempt not to seem too eager.

 _When?_

For a moment, she considers it. She hasn't eaten anything, and when she cancelled the week before she'd promised a raincheck on dinner.

 _Now? You could cash in that rain check. I can't promise a homemade meal, but I've got a frozen pizza and some beer._

She stops short of adding, "and a vibrator that isn't doing the trick."

 _On my way._

Taking a breath she sends a smiley emoji, then rolls out of bed. She pulls on a violet colored T-shirt, forgoing a bra and slipping on a comfortable lavender cotton thong before pulling on a pair of Capri-length black leggings.

For a moment, she stands there in the mirror, wondering if maybe she should put in a little more effort. She opens up her drawer and looks down into it—she hasn't bought anything other than sensible lingerie in years. She hasn't had a reason to, or an interest.

Her stomach flutters as her phone buzzes.

 _Just got here. Can I come up?_

Checking herself one last time, she heads down the stairs and unlocks the door. From the window, she watches him grin as the door unlocks, gingerly stepping inside—then a moment later, he's at her doorstep.

"Hey," he murmurs, a charming little grin stretching over his lips.

He's wearing a dark pair of jeans, a black t-shirt and his black leather jacket. She's not sure if it's the dark colors or the lighting or simply the fact that she wants him so badly, but his eyes look bluer than usual, his smile a bit more coy and his dimples more pronounced.

"Hey, come on in," she says, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "Are you, um… hungry? I believe I promised you pizza."

"Not particularly. Roland and I had an early dinner." He chuckles softly. "I was hoping to curb his snacking at the game."

"Do you think it worked?"

"Judging by the picture John sent me of my son and a giant plate of nachos, not a bit."

She laughs. "Do you want a beer, then, or...?" she trails off. She doesn't have much else to offer.

"Sure. That sounds great."

She goes to the kitchen and grabs two and opens them. When she returns, Robin's jacket is slung over his arm. She hands him the beer and takes his jacket, tossing it over a chair as she leads him to the couch, her eyes lingering on his arms and the way they fill out the short sleeves of his t-shirt—all the while thinking of how much she wants to get it off of him.

"So, um, what time is the Rangers game over?" She bites down on her lip. "I don't know much about hockey—" At that she stops. "The Rangers are hockey, right?"

He gently laughs. "Yes, and around nine probably."

Her face falls. "Oh—"

"But they usually play in New York. They're in Boston tonight, so Roland and John will be heading back tomorrow."

"So, you're free for the whole night?"

He grins. "I am, and into the afternoon."

For a moment, neither of them says anything—and for a moment, she's not entirely sure what to do or say.

"Sorry, I'm just… a bit out of practice with—"

"I am too."

She blinks up at him and nods as he sheepishly rubs at the back of his neck. She forgets that sometimes.

"On the way here I went through about twelve scenarios of how this would go and whether or not I was right in my assumption of why you asked me to come over… or how this might all get foiled."

"Foiled—"

"Well, it seems that every time we're close, things…"

"Yeah. I've… picked up on that," she says, laughing as his eyes widen and he shrugs, feigning exasperation. "And, to be clear, I'm… fairly annoyed by that."

"Well, a puking kid isn't—"

She sighs. "I'll forgive Henry. I'm still mad at Killian."

A smirk tugs up at the corner of his mouth. "Lately, I've been learning all sorts of new things about you."

Her brow arches and her head tips quizzically.

"Tonight I've learned that you can _really_ hold a grudge."

"Better to learn now," she says simply, offering a playful shrug and a pointed look.

Then her eyes narrow. Had she not spent the majority of the early evening unsuccessfully trying to get herself off, she'd have been content to sit here, drinking and chatting, and just seeing where the night would take them, letting things progress naturally.

But she didn't invite him over to talk. It'd been a depressingly long time since she'd had sex. In fairness, she hadn't wanted to do it for most of that time; it wasn't like she'd spent the last seven years pining for it. But that was irrelevant. What mattered was the here and now.

"Do you want to go upstairs?"

"Uh… yes," he says, a bit taken aback as she stands up and takes his hand, leading him up to her bedroom, her stomach burning with anticipation.

She takes a breath as they reach the top, turning toward him as his eyes wander around the room and eventually fall back to her. She offers a devilish little smile as she reaches down and tugs off her shirt over her head. Robin swallows hard, his eyes instinctively falling to her bare chest.

Giving his hand a little pull, she pulls him over the threshold, tugging him to her before linking her arms around his neck and kissing him.

He responds in kind, his arms folding around her as his tongue slips through her lips. He kisses her with the same urgency and intensity that she kisses him. It's full of want and desire, yearning for more, yet at the same time trying to savor every moment.

She breaks the kiss when her legs hit the bed, her cheeks flushing as she looks to him and finds his eyes focused on her chest.

"My god, you're beautiful."

Her hand presses to his chest, her fingers pushing at the fabric of his shirt. She swallows hard, thinking of all the times she's imagined a moment like this one—how he'd look, how he'd smell, how he'd feel...

He tugs his shirt over his head and drops it to the floor as his hand finds her waist, pulling her to him as he leans in for another kiss.

His lips slide from her lips to her jaw then down her neck. She leans into it, her hands staying pressed up against his chest, enjoying the feel of having him so close, enjoying not having to anticipate what happens next to keep the moment alive.

A breathy little sigh escapes her as he finds a particularly sweet spot just behind her earlobe, and she feels him smile against her skin.

Carefully, she eases herself back, pulling him with her as she sits on the bed. He pulls back as she edges upward, laying against the pillows, wanting to feel his weight on top of her—and judging by his coy little smile, he realizes that.

Robin stretches out over her, pecking at her lips and kissing down her neck and clavicle. His lips are soft and warm, and just a little bit wet—and as they drag down the space between her breasts, her back arches and a soft sigh escapes her.

Holy shit does he feel good—and he's only getting started.

His tongue circles around one nipple as his hand squeezes at the other breast. He sucks and kneads for awhile, making her squirm as she feels herself growing wetter. Reaching up, her fingers slide into his hair, grasping and tugging gently—and she smiles when he shifts himself, allowing her to feel the effect she's having on him.

And then, he stops.

Her eyes open and she looks to him, then she looks to his hand—his fingertips resting on her purple silicone vibrator.

 _Oh my god._

His lips are pursed when she looks back to him, her eyes widening.

"I… forgot that was there."

He nods and picks it up, examining it before looking back to her, a smirk painted over his lips. "You forgot—?

Pulling herself up onto her elbows, she looks at it. "It usually lives in my nightstand. It's not always—"

"Were you using it when you texted me?"

She hesitates for a moment, but there's no reason to lie. "Yes."

He looks to her, still smirking and looking so smug and amused. "Were you thinking of me?"

She's been thinking of him for the better part of a year. "Yes."

"Were you imagining that I was between your legs instead of…" His voice trails off as he presses it on, his brows arching at the strength of the vibration—and then, it's all she can do but laugh.

"I told you," she says sitting up and taking the vibrator and tossing it aside. "It's been a long time."

"Mm, but that thing seems... awfully satisfying." He offers a sheepish grin. "No wonder you didn't date."

"For awhile it was enough," she says, shifting herself so that she's straddling his lap. "But tonight it just wasn't doing the trick."

"Ahh—"

"And I figured, why have a fantasy when you can have the real thing?"

He swallows hard and she smiles, leaning in and kissing him. It's a long, languid sort of kiss—and despite how much she wants him, she doesn't want to rush it.

His hands form around her hips, sliding to her ass, his fingertips pressing firmly as he pulls her closer.

Her breath catches when he breaks the kiss and flips her over. She laughs out in surprise and he gives her a devilish little grin before kissing his way down from her breasts to her stomach. She lifts her hips as his fingers hook into the waistband of her leggings, pulling them down and discarding them.

He hovers over her, looking at her laying there in only her thong. Biting down on her lip, she thinks back to only an hour before when she'd worried about the casualness of her undergarment—something that feels so foolish now, given the way she feels as he looks at her.

His fingers touch her through her underwear, pressing firmly as he drags them down the patch of fabric that grows increasingly more narrow. Her breasts rise and fall as she breathes, watchings as his eyes explore her, as he teases her without really touching her.

He reaches up to the sides of her underwear and instinctively her hips rise, allowing him to take them off. Her skin prickles as he reaches out to touch her, his finger dragging through the sleek spot between her legs.

"I suppose it's only fair that I return the favor," he tells her, a cunning little grin tugging across his face.

And when he leans in, that first swipe of his tongue is nearly electric.

He flattens it out, licking all the way up and down and back again, before swirling the hardened tip of his tongue around her clit. His arms hook under her thighs, pulling her closer as he devours her.

Her fingers curl around the sheet, the other hand tangling in his hair—she knows she won't last much longer, yet has no desire to slow him down. It feels too good.

His scruffy cheeks tickle her thighs as he sucks at her clit, his fingers slipping in and curling up before slipping almost entirely out of her before sliding back in. He finds a rhythm as she writhes against him, moving her hips as her breathing grows ragged and she babbles encouragement.

Her thighs begin to tighten and her fingers grasp the sheet as she finds herself increasingly more sensitive. Part of her wants to push him away, but another (bigger) part of her wants to keep him right where he is, wanting to see how long she can last.

Her orgasm hits her hard—her whole body shaking and bucking beneath his touch. And still, he doesn't let up, licking her through it and making another start almost as soon as the first has finished.

She's flushed and smiling as he stretches out beside her, kissing her gently as she rolls onto her side.

"That was… so much better than I imagined it would be."

He looks so pleased with himself, and it makes her laugh.

"You know," he murmurs, his fingers skimming over her hip. "I've thought quite a bit about you, too… my eyes closed in the shower, imagining I had you pinned up against the tile, that I was thrusting into you instead of my fist."

She bites down on her lip to stifle her smile as she reaches for the button on his pants. "Is that so?"

"Mm—"

"Well, we'll just have to see if I live up to the fantasy."

He smirks and offers a husky groan as her fingers tug at his zipper and slip into his boxers, feeling how hard he is. "You've already surpassed it."

Her brow arches and she laughs. "Always such a charmer." He groans as she strokes him. "But you've already got me in bed, you don't need to try to be so smooth."

"Is that so?"

"Mm—"

And then in one fluid motion, he lifts his hips and pulls his pants down, kicking his feet until they're off. She laughs as they hit the floor with a soft thud and he rolls on top of her, her arms linking around his neck.

"How was that for smooth?"

"Incredible, and _so_ sexy with the socks still on."

He wriggles his eyebrows as he pulls off his socks, and they both laugh again—and she's amazed at how easy it feels, how comfortable it is, like they've always been this way together.

She kisses him as she spreads her legs, drawing one leg up and hooking it over his. Her hands slip into the back of his boxers, her finger pressing into his butt cheeks—but she doesn't let them linger, instead sliding them back to his hips and tugging them down.

He sighs and kicks them to the floor, reluctantly breaking the kiss as he sits up. "I brought, um…" he looks to the mess of clothes on the floor. "Probably should've thought to grab the condom out of my pocket before throwing off my pants so dramatically."

Leaning up on her elbows she laughs. "I have some in my drawer." He blinks, watching as she opens the drawer. "Killian—"

"Am I about to use one of his condoms? I feel like he'd really appreciate that."

"Not exactly, and yes, he really would," she says pulling one from the box. "He... really struggles with my lack of a sex life. These came with the vibrator… among other things."

She can tell that piques his attention, but she leaves it at that, wanting him to wonder.

She crawls over to him, kissing him as her hand presses to his chest. "Lay back," she whispers, her eyes meeting his.

He does as she asks, watching as she rips open the plastic wrapper—and she smiles at the way he grins, so eager and so full of anticipation.

She leans in and kisses him. Her lips move to his chin, then his chest, kissing her way down his body until she reaches his hard cock. Looking up at him, she licks her lips—he's more than ready for her, but she can't resist taking him in her mouth.

He groans as her lips slide up and down his shaft, her tongue swirling around the tip as she gently kneads at his balls—and when he murmurs a breathy, _Oh fuck that's good,_ she sucks a bit harder at the tip and lets her hand pump up and down his shaft.

This isn't how she wants him to come, though, she pulls away and rolls on the condom. Leaning in, she kisses him once more—and then, pulling back she shifts herself on top of him.

For a second, she hesitates, remembering how she'd once thought that being with anyone else would be such a betrayal—but she feels none of that now. Instead, those harsh feelings are replaced with excitement and lust, and if she's being completely honest with herself, love.

Her eyes close as she sinks down onto him, slowly letting him fill her. She lets out a content little sigh, enjoying the warmth and fullness she feels—and then when she opens her eyes, he's grinning, his blue eyes soft and shining. His hand hold her hips as she gently start to rock them.

She rides him, changing her motions between fast and slow, bouncing and rocking as their breath grows ragged.

He sits up, keeping himself inside of her, as his arms fold around her and his hips start to thrust. His lips find hers, kissing her deeply as they fuck—and eventually, she finds herself on her back, arms and legs formed around him.

Her hand slips between them, rubbing at her clit as her fucks her—and when she feels his cock beginning to jerk, she presses harder, screaming out as another orgasm overtakes her.

Robin comes, too, his movements slowing and his breath growing heavy—and as her own climax subsides, she kisses him through his.

He rolls off of her, giving her a goofy yet sated smile.

She cuddles up to him, laying her head against his chest as she listens to his heart beating in his chest as her eyelids grow heavy—she'd forgotten how good this part was, the lightness and contentment that made her feel so comfortable, cared for and loved.

Robin's arm curls around her shoulders and he presses a kiss to the top of her head. He murmurs something to her that she doesn't quite catch...

When her eyes flutter open, he's still in bed with her, laying on his side and stroking his fingers up and down her arm, still wearing that sweet, goofy grin. It takes her a moment to realize that she actually fell asleep, that she wasn't just dozing lazily against him, and that she was out long enough for him to get cleaned up. He's dressed now, wearing his t-shirt and boxers, and the quilt that had been twisted and bunched up at the foot of the bed is now neatly around her.

"Oh my god, did I really fall asleep for…" she squints, looking to the alarm clock on the nightstand, "an hour!?"

"Just under, actually," he tells her. "You're a cute sleeper, do you know that?"

She stares at him for a moment, suddenly envisioning herself drooling on her pillow and snorting out random sounds from her nostrils, and all the other unsexy things she knows she occasionally (or probably always) does in her sleep.

"And… I realized how creepy that might sound—"

"No—" she says, swallowing and sitting up a little as she considers the likely horrified look on her face. "I was just thinking about how I—" She stops abruptly, needing a minute to find her words.

He chuckles softly to himself, offering a lopsided grin. "But, I mean, if you were charmed by my nearly stalking you for a date—"

"It wasn't stalking," she laughs. "And, I meant it when I said I was impressed by how long you held on. I was _sure_ that you'd lose interest in me."

"I very quickly learned that you were more than worth the wait." She smiles so quickly that it makes her blush. Her head dips forward and her hair falls in her face as she laughs. "And that's not… some smooth line I'm tossing out. I'm glad we waited a bit before jumping into things and got to know each other—"

"Seven years is a bit more than… a bit." His brow furrows and then the realization settles in his eyes. He was talking about dating; she's talking about sex. "I… don't want to talk about it."

"Fair enough."

"You know, my new therapist would be proud of me," she tells him, hesitating for just a moment, wondering if that's a detail she's shared with him. "He was not so gently hinting that all the times that were, um… foiled, as you said… was actually me throwing up the walls that I'd gotten so comfortable with having up around me."

Robin smirks. "Then he obviously didn't see the rage in your eyes when Killian walked into the kitchen when you were… having your way with me."

Her eyes roll. In that moment, it'd been embarrassment, not rage; but she doesn't correct him. There's no point. It doesn't matter.

"I'm just… glad that I let you in. I don't do that easily."

"I noticed," he tells her, grinning. "But luckily for you, I'm quite persistent and don't pick up on hints."

"Ordinarily that would be incredibly annoying."

"But nothing about this is ordinary, is it?"

Again, she hesitates. It's not ordinary; in fact, it feels quite the opposite. She's in love with him—though she can't yet bring herself to admit that to him—and she can feel whatever it is that they're doing leading to something meaningful. In a way, she's known that's the direction things were going in for a long time. She put up a million roadblocks and he didn't back off, yet at the same time, he didn't push. He didn't pester or pressure her, accepting whatever she could offer in any given moment.

He was simply there, willing to do things on her terms and at her pace. They'd been friends first, and she learned to trust him and open up to him, warming to the possibility of something more without having to put her heart on the line—and in giving her space to figure herself out, to get to a point where she was ready, he'd cemented a spot for himself in her heart. In not having a relationship, they'd managed to build one.

It wasn't just lust, it was something deeper, something lasting…

"Are you hungry?"

He lets out a breath and nods. "Starved."

"So, that frozen pizza—"

"Sounds incredible."

"Perfect," she laughs, tossing off the blanket and getting out of bed.

She can feel him watching as she pulls on her t-shirt and puts on a fresh pair of underwear—and then, she reaches for his hand, tugging him up from the bed and leading him downstairs. She tells him to make himself comfortable and find a movie or something to watch while she puts the pizza in—and as he sits back on the couch and begins flipping through Netflix movies, her heart flutters at the thought of what's to come.


End file.
